


Space Sickness

by themadlurker



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-11
Updated: 2009-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadlurker/pseuds/themadlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James T. Kirk was an avid proponent of the idea that if you had to jump, you should do it head first and off of a cliff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a [request](http://community.livejournal.com/st_anon_fic/667.html?thread=27291#t27291) at the Star Trek Anon [fic request meme](http://community.livejournal.com/st_anon_fic/667.html): "Friendship fics, plz! ... How Kirk helped (or didn't, or tried to) McCoy with his fear of space." // I'm also looking for a beta-reader familiar with TOS, if anyone's interested.

James T. Kirk was an avid proponent of the idea that if you had to jump, you should do it head first and off of a cliff. There was something similarly suicidal in his decision to knock on Leonard McCoy's door at 03:30 in the middle of an exam period.

"Bones!" he whispered through the door. "Hey, Bones! There's something I gotta show you."

McCoy, used to dealing with Kirk in the same way he dealt with medical crises, appeared at the door a minute later, fully dressed, but a little wild-eyed and dishevelled.

"You're looking well, Jim."

"Thanks, now come on."

McCoy grabbed his arm.

"That wasn't a compliment. It was a warning. Someone had better be badly injured right now."

"Bones, I am about to save _your_ life. Or your career. Probably both."

"Are you, by any chance, about to endanger them first?"

The silence spoke a loud _YES_ to the knot in McCoy's stomach that he had named "Jim," but he followed anyway. The uneasiness grew as they left the cadet quarters and headed down the path that led to: storage, loading bays, shuttles.

"Where, exactly, are we going, Jim?" asked McCoy, with an accustomed mix of reluctance and resignation. Kirk flashed him a dazzling grin and stopped at one of the shuttle-bay doors.

"It's just up ahead — right, through here, and..." He ran afoul of a loading platform and rubbed his head.

"In my medical opinion, that's going to bruise; in my ethical opinion, you deserve it; and in my personal opinion, sneaking around near launch pads is an even worse idea after dark."

Kirk just grinned harder, and ducked under the next platform.

"The shuttles can't hurt you, Bones — now, which one was it?" He picked out a console and set to work.

"If this is just some stupid prank because you botched that last flight test, Jim, I swear —"

"Calm down, Bones, I'm not hurting anything. Now, what was the code? Aha! Thank you, Marcie!"

"The code for wha — damn it, what are you _doing_, Jim?"

A shuttle door hissed open above them.

"Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, and no. Are you _insane_? I should have you admitted for evaluation — you can't _do_ this." McCoy gave up protesting as he was dragged the last few feet towards the shuttle doors.

"Oh yes, Bones. Don't think I haven't noticed what you're up to. Your wrote _yourself_ a medical excuse for the last practical — which you still refuse to do when I have a hangover, and that is very unsporting of you, by the way — and I could already see the clouds of doubt and suspicion hovering over old Wheezy's face. You won't get away with that again, and I'm pretty sure that decorating the insides of a shuttle craft with your stomach contents will not add a _creativity_ bonus to your score."

"So I won't eat lunch first. This is mad! I doubt it will improve my flight score if I crash a shuttle in the middle of the night. For that matter, I don't see how it'll help my score to wind up _stone cold dead_, which is what we'll probably both be if you insist on making me fly this thing when I can't see my damn hand in front of my face."

"My friend, have I ever told you that you worry too much? Anyway, I'll be flying till we get out of here—"

"—oh, that's _such_ a comfort—"

"—_and_ what I've been trying to tell you for ages, they've installed much better sensors and—" he shoved McCoy bodily down into a chair "—_inertial dampers_ on these things since the last time. Besides, I was only distracted on that flight test by that stupid argument with Marcie, _for which I have "most sincere apologies"_ and some borrowed access codes in recompense." The screens burst into an array of light. "Marcie's logged on for the extra practice tonight, so there you are, no one will even notice—" the engines hummed to life beneath them, and McCoy gripped at the arms of his seat.

"You're sure we shouldn't—"

There was a sudden lurch, and they were thrown sideways. McCoy's nervous grip kept him mostly anchored, while Kirk scrabbled a bit along the controls until he got a leg hooked around his chair leg and steadied himself. He looked back at McCoy and smiled in what the doctor considered a perfectly deranged way.

"Full speed ahead, Bones!" and they were away.

McCoy thought he felt his stomach disappear as the last few metres of the shuttle bay rushed past them, and his field of view was suddenly filled with black. A few more moments and distant lights began to fill his vision as they came out under the stars. Kirk gave a low whistle.

"Now that, _that_ is a sight you can never get used to seeing."

McCoy silently agreed, although the thought was mixed with a list of facts and statistics that detailed just how quickly they would both expire if one of any number of valves should suddenly fail, or some spark should cause a chain reaction... McCoy sucked in a deep breath of oxygen, savouring the slightly stale, reprocessed air.

"Well," he said, trying to sound sarcastic but sounding rather breathless instead, "this has been a great help — nothing to be afraid of, completely see the error of my ways, _take us back down now, you idiot_."

"Can't do that, Bones. Sorry — but it's for your own good." And he got up — the bastard actually got up and sauntered off to the back of the shuttle craft, where he propped his feet up and leaned back at an infuriating angle.

"Have you at least got this thing on autopilot?" McCoy slid forward while maintaining his death-grip on the chair. He stiffened suddenly and sat forward. "Jim! You've put — you've got the safety protocols offline! Are you mad? That means — it won't even correct for collision detection!" He started pushing buttons in a flurry and released a sigh of relief when he saw the relevant indicators flicker back on.

"Oh, hey, what's that big rock-y thingy off to the right, sorry, _starboard_."

McCoy clutched at the display.

"I don't see... Sensors aren't reading any objects." His fingers played across a few more controls and the shuttle lurched into an awkward turn. "You're not — you _are_ making it up. There's nothing there." Already part way into one, he brought the shuttle around in an arc until they pointed back towards their origin. His stomach sank at the distance Kirk had managed to put between them and safe, solid ground. Still — "straight line, easy does it."

Kirk lept up from his seat.

"Wait, stop! turn back a bit! About two points off starboard. I'm not kidding this time, Bones. I swear I saw... something."

McCoy sighed, but fired the thrusters. The motion came at a slight jerk, but not, he congratulated himself, as unsteadily this time.

"There! You see it?"

"There's still nothing on sensors..." McCoy looked up at the viewscreen in front of him and stopped. Something small and yellow was hurtling towards them. He seized at the helm control, managing to swing them a little farther out of the way before impact. The shields crackled slightly, but held.

"Damage—" he croaked. "Uh, damage report?"

Kirk had manoevered his way into the second pilot's chair. "Damage to shields... .00001%"

"What the hell was that thing?"

"Sensors show — well, still nothing. No, wait. Slight variations in — traces of organic materials? Hang on, I think I can track it, let's follow it."

McCoy didn't answer. He was staring out ahead of them. Kirk finally glanced up and followed his gaze.

"What —"

"Jim, those are... I mean, they are, aren't they?"

"Uh, I think... yes, sensors confirm the chemical composition. They're some kind of fruit."

"Grapefruit. Definitely grapefruits. My ex-wife was very fond of them. Never thought of hurling them into space though. How'd they get here?"

Kirk shook his head, stupefied. "...Bones?"

"Hmm?" and it was a mark of what a kind, compassionate man he was that he didn't revel in the spooked look on Kirk's face.

"Let's get out of here. Now. I can take the controls if you like."

"No thanks. I think if breakfast food can make its way out here, so can I."

True to his word, McCoy plotted the rather simple course back to base and brought the shuttle in for its landing with a minimum of swerving. The two men stumbled out looking slightly dazed. Marcel, the assistant flight instructor, was waiting for them at the entrance to the shuttle bay. Kirk gave him a half-hearted leer.

"Everything went well?"

"Yeah, thanks, Marcie, I owe you one."

Marcel shrugged. "I have always said that Vorze's students should not have so much to deal with the stress of flying. Your friend will be all right?"

"Yeah, just — need some sleep, I guess. Both of us. See you Saturday?"

Marcel nodded, and the cadets headed back in silence. McCoy was pensive; though most of his thoughts were still on the shuttle flight tomorrow, he found himself wondering more at the novelty of seeing Jim Kirk actually looking surprised by anything; the young cadet normally showed great skill at rolling with the punches (even the ones he threw at himself); but then, Kirk was probably just tired; they were both tired; this was the wrong corridor. When he realized where he was, he shook himself and turned around. A sudden thought turned him back.

"Jim?"

"What? Oh. Bones, you can yell at me in the morning, okay?"

"Not that. It's just — well, actually, thanks, kid. I guess that did help, only... next time you decide to help me?"

Kirk propped himself up lazily against the wall in an attitude that McCoy knew meant he was really halfway to sleep already.

"Next time you do me a favour — tell me about it first? Because, you do realize we could have booked practice time during the day."

Kirk just stared at him, only half focussed.

"During the day, next time. That's all. And without any of the grapefruits."

Kirk gave a half-nod that could have been agreement and stumbled off down the hall. McCoy heard him mutter something that could have been "grapefruit" before he took himself off to his own quarters for whatever sleep he could get.

Still, as he lay in bed staring up at the darkness above him, McCoy thought that Jim Kirk had once again managed, despite his best efforts to the contrary, to do something right. Whatever else happened the next day -- and McCoy just might pass out from exhaustion mid-exam — he could at least guarantee that he wouldn't be thinking about the many types of death one could encounter on a flight test. Well, not only that, anyway.


End file.
